Field

Analysis — page 3

Limits, curves, and what happens when the going does not stop.
Lissajous figures for every coprime pair of frequencies up to 4. A 4 by 4 grid of Lissajous figures x = sin(pt + 0.3), y = sin(qt), with the crossing count 2pq − p − q under each and the non-coprime pairs left blank.

When two circular motions come home

Drive a point across with one sine wave and up and down with another. If the two frequencies are in a whole-number ratio the point retraces a closed figure whose crossings can be counted in advance — 2pq − p − q of them — and if they are not, it never comes back and fills the square, spending twenty times longer in the corners than in the middle.

Area out to infinity, for three powers. Left: the curves 1/√x, 1/x, 1/x² from x = 0 to 10, with the region beyond x = 1 shaded under the lowest. Right: the area from 1 to T for each, on logarithmic scales, for T up to 10^6. 1/√x keeps growing, 1/x keeps growing, 1/x² levels off at 1.

An endless region with a finite area

A region that runs off to infinity can still have a finite area, and for the curves 1/xᵖ the exponent that makes the far end finite is exactly the one that makes the end at zero infinite. 1/x fails at both, no power succeeds at both, and a horn can hold less than π while needing infinite paint.

Integration by parts is a rectangle. The increasing curve v = u²/4 between u = 1 and u = 3. The region under it is shaded one way and the region between it and the vertical axis another; together they fill the rectangle from the origin to (3, 2.25) minus the rectangle to (1, 0.25).

A rectangle cut by a curve

Integration by parts is taught as the product rule run backwards. It is also a picture: an increasing curve cuts a rectangle into two pieces, one of them the area under the curve and the other the area beside it, and the formula says only that the pieces fill the rectangle. Run repeatedly, the same cut produces the factorials and Wallis's product for π.

The powers of 2 in 1 to 12: one number, 8, stands alone. The whole numbers from 1 to 12, each with a bar whose height is the power of 2 dividing it. A single number has the tallest bar, which is why the harmonic number H(12) has an even denominator and an odd numerator.

The sum that steps over every whole number

The harmonic sum 1 + 1/2 + 1/3 + … passes 2 at the fourth term, 3 at the eleventh, 4 at the thirty-first, and eventually every whole number there is. It never lands on one. The proof is a single number in the list 1, 2, …, n that carries more factors of two than any other — and the same arithmetic makes the numerators divisible by squares of primes they have no business knowing about.

12 harmonic series with random signs, each settling on its own sum. Partial sums of the harmonic series with each sign chosen by a fair coin, for several independent runs, plotted against the number of terms on a logarithmic scale, beside the all-plus and alternating sign patterns.

A coin in front of every term

Put all plus signs in front of 1, 1/2, 1/3, … and the sum runs off to infinity; alternate them and it settles on log 2. Toss a fair coin for each sign instead, and the sum settles — every time, on a different number. Where it tends to settle has a smooth, flat-topped shape, and at the value 2 that shape takes a height that agrees with one eighth to forty-two decimal places and is not one eighth.

Thomae's function as a limit of tents, at n = 3 and 8. Continuous functions built from narrow triangles over the fractions, drawn at two stages, with the limit shown as a dot at height 1/q over every fraction p/q: a function continuous at the irrationals and discontinuous at the rationals.

A limit can jump at every fraction

A sequence of continuous functions can settle, point by point, on a function that is discontinuous at every rational number. It cannot settle on one that is discontinuous everywhere — the indicator of the rationals needs two limits in a row, and Riemann's integral cannot follow the second. The line between the two is Baire's theorem, and it measures smallness by gaps rather than by length.

xⁿ is uniform off a strip, with N = 14, 29, 59 for 3 strips. The functions x to the n on the unit interval with a band of half-width 0.05 around zero. For each of 3 strips next to 1, the member at which every later one stays in the band away from the strip.

Uniform, except on a small set

The functions xⁿ settle on their limit at every point and never uniformly — the trouble is all in a strip next to 1. Throw the strip away and the convergence is uniform on what is left, however thin the strip. Egorov proved that this always happens on an interval, Lusin proved the matching fact about a single function, and a bump sliding off along the whole line shows why both need a set of finite length to start from.

The Cantor function has length 2. The graph of a singular or partly singular increasing function on the unit interval with an inscribed polygon, beside a table of inscribed lengths by stage and the value the derivative formula gives.

The length the derivative never sees

The Cantor function climbs from 0 to 1 with a slope of zero almost everywhere, so the formula ∫√(1 + f′²) dx says its graph has length 1 — the length of a flat line. The inscribed polygons say 2. Mix it half and half with the diagonal and the length becomes exactly the golden ratio, while the formula still reports only the part the slope can see.

Measuring a closed curve with inlets by throwing lines at it. A curve inside a disc crossed by a sample of random lines with each crossing marked, beside the mean number of crossings and the length it implies against the true length.

A length counted by the lines that cross it

Throw straight lines at random across a curve and count how often they cross it. The average count, times π times the radius of the target, is the curve's length — for a wiggly closed curve, a spiral or a snowflake alike, with no following of the curve and no derivative anywhere. It is Crofton's formula of 1868, and it measures length the way a map-reader's ruled transparency does.

A plucked string, released. A string plucked into a tent shape at 0.5, drawn at times 0, 0.1, 0.25, 0.5, 0.75, 1: the corner splits into two corners that run apart, reflect off the ends upside down and meet again.

A plucked string keeps its corners

Heat smooths a sharp profile at once, because each harmonic decays at a rate set by the square of its frequency. Change one time derivative into two and nothing decays at all: each harmonic swings for ever, the corner of a pluck splits in two and runs along the string, and after one period the shape comes back exactly. The same sines, the same coefficients — and a flow that loses nothing.

The Dirichlet kernel, a spike with ripples that do not die. The Dirichlet kernel for N = 4, 12 on the interval from −π to π: a central spike of height 2N + 1 and side ripples whose total area in absolute value grows with N.

The ripples that make a series run away

Adding up the first N terms of a Fourier series is the same as averaging the function against one fixed wiggly curve. Its area is always one, but the area of its absolute value grows like the logarithm of N, without limit — and that single number is enough to force a continuous function, with no jump and no corner anywhere, whose Fourier series diverges at a point. Averaging the partial sums removes the negative ripples, and with them the whole problem.

Where a coin-signed geometric series lands, for λ = 1/3, 1/2, 1/√2, 1/φ. Histograms of the exact distribution of the sum of plus or minus λ to the k, one panel per value of λ: a dust of separated pieces below one half, a flat block at one half, and smooth-looking overlapping shapes above.

A coin in front of every power

Toss a coin for each sign of ±1 ± λ ± λ² ± … and the sum lands somewhere. Below λ = 1/2 it lands on a dust with gaps in it, at exactly 1/2 it lands anywhere with equal chance, and above 1/2 it lands on a smooth-looking hill — which for most λ has a density and for the golden value does not, though no picture can tell the two apart.

Sign patterns, and the far fewer points they land on. A logarithmic plot of the number of sign patterns, two to the n, against the number of distinct values the golden geometric sum takes, which is a Fibonacci number less one and falls further behind at every step.

Two sign patterns that land together

At λ = 1/φ the sign patterns + − − and − + + land in exactly the same place, because λ² + λ = 1. That one coincidence, repeated wherever it fits, puts 2ⁿ patterns onto a Fibonacci number of points, leaves the random sum's transform ringing at the same height forever, and makes a distribution that fills a whole interval live on a set of no length.

Powers of a matrix that shrink in the end. Three curves of the norm of the n-th power of a two-by-two matrix against n on a logarithmic axis: one decays steadily, two rise to peaks of about 18 and 7 before decaying.

A geometric series whose ratio is a matrix

1 + r + r² + … adds to 1/(1 − r) when r is smaller than one. Put a matrix in place of r and the same formula holds, with the inverse matrix in place of the fraction — but what must be smaller than one is not the matrix's size. It is its largest eigenvalue. A matrix whose eigenvalues are 0.9 and 0.8 can stretch vectors ten times over before its powers begin to shrink, and the series still converges, after a detour the eigenvalues say nothing about.

1 + 2 + 4 + … in two notions of size. Two sets of points against the number of terms up to 20 on an axis whose gridlines are powers of 2: the partial sums' ordinary size rising, their 2-adic distance from −1 falling.

A series that converges to minus one

1 + 2 + 4 + 8 + … runs off to infinity, and yet the formula for a geometric series says it should equal 1/(1 − 2) = −1. Measure size by how many factors of 2 a number has, instead of how large it is, and powers of 2 become small: the series converges, and to exactly −1. The same change of ruler explains why every repeating decimal is a fraction, and why repeating binary digits running off to the left are fractions too.

The trace–determinant plane and the flows it sorts. The plane of trace against determinant, divided by the horizontal axis and the parabola tr² = 4 det into saddle, node, spiral and centre regions, with 6 matrices marked and their phase portraits drawn alongside.

Two numbers decide the flow

A linear system in the plane has four coefficients, and what its solutions do forever afterwards — spiral in, race out, swing round, or split along two lines — is decided by two of the numbers made from them. The plane of trace against determinant is a complete map of the possibilities, and the only places it cannot decide are the lines where it changes its mind.

Which real 2 × 2 matrices have a real logarithm, read off their eigenvalues. Eigenvalues of 7 matrices plotted in the complex plane with the negative real axis emphasised, beside a table saying for each whether a real logarithm exists and why: A yes, B yes, C yes, D no, E no, F yes, G no.

The matrix that has no logarithm

Every square matrix has an exponential, and a matrix exponential is always invertible. The converse fails, and it fails in a way that can be read straight off the eigenvalues — a real matrix with eigenvalues −1 and −2 is no exponential at all, while minus the identity is the exponential of a whole continuum of matrices that do not even commute with each other.

The best degree-3 polynomial to eˣ: its error touches its largest size 5 times. The error curve of the best uniform polynomial approximation of degree 3 to eˣ on the interval from −1 to 1. It reaches its maximum size 5.528 × 10⁻³ at 5 points, alternately above and below, at x = -1.000, -0.682, 0.050, 0.732, 1.000.

The error that keeps coming back to its worst

Judge a polynomial by its largest error on an interval and there is exactly one best one of each degree. It is recognised without comparing it to anything else — its error rises to the same largest size, alternately above and below, one more time than there are coefficients.

A disc of radius 0.2 and an ellipse of size 1.22 around the same interval. For 1/(1 + 25x²): the interval from −1 to 1 on the real axis, poles at 0 + 0.2i and 0 − 0.2i, the Taylor disc at 0 of radius 0.20, and the Bernstein ellipse with foci ±1 through the poles, with ρ = 1.2198.

An ellipse, not a disc

A Taylor series converges on a disc, and the disc's radius is the distance to the nearest singularity. Ask instead how well polynomials can follow a function on an interval, and the answer is an ellipse with the interval's ends as its foci — the largest one the function is smooth inside.

Secants closing on the slope of the folium x³ + y³ = 3xy. The curve x³ + y³ = 3xy with secants from (1.001, 0.348) of slopes 1.274, 0.953, 0.830, 0.777, approaching the tangent slope 0.744 given by the equation's partial derivatives.

A slope for a curve that is no function

The folium x³ + y³ = 3xy loops back over itself, so no formula y = f(x) describes it, and yet at almost every point it has a perfectly good tangent. Differentiating the equation as it stands gives the slope, −(∂F/∂x) ÷ (∂F/∂y), and the only points where that fails are the ones where the curve turns vertical or crosses itself — which are exactly the points where it stops being a graph.

The slope of x² sin(1/x): discontinuous at nought, and never jumping. The derivative of x^2 sin(1/x) on [−0.12, 0.12], with the value at nought marked and the level 0.5 crossed 77 times.

A slope can swing but never jump

A function can have a slope at every point without that slope changing continuously: x² sin(1/x) has slope nought at the origin and a slope that swings between −1 and 1 however close to the origin it is taken. What a slope cannot do is jump. Darboux proved in 1875 that a derivative takes every value between any two of its values, so a step is never a derivative — and the only way a slope can be discontinuous is by oscillating.

A planimeter's wheel measures an area by going round it. Polar planimeter with arms 2.3 and 2 traced round a closed curve; wheel roll 1.6478, times 2, equals the area 3.2955.

An area measured by walking round it

A surveyor's instrument from 1854 measures the area of any shape on a map by having its pointer steered once round the boundary; a small wheel rolls and slides, and its reading, times the length of one arm, is the area. Nothing touches the inside. The reason is that area can be written as an integral over the boundary — Green's theorem — and the instrument is that integral built in brass. Walk a curve that crosses itself and the same integral counts some regions twice.

Divergent and convergent integrands pressing towards each other. x·f(x) on a log scale for 1/x, 1/(x ln x), 1/(x ln x ln ln x) (divergent) and 1/(x (ln x)²), 1/(x ln x (ln ln x)²) (convergent), for x up to 10^300.

No integrand sits on the border

The area under 1/x out to infinity is infinite and the area under 1/x² is finite, so it is natural to look for the dividing line. There is none. Divide any divergent integrand by its own running integral and it still diverges, more slowly; divide any convergent one by the square root of its tail and it still converges, more slowly. Paul du Bois-Reymond proved in 1873 that no single integrand can separate the two families — and the slow ones are slow beyond imagining.

A knot drawn with three sines: 5₂ as a Lissajous knot. Frequencies 2, 3, 7 with phases 0.1, 0.7, 0.3; 7 crossings from above; Alexander polynomial 2t − 3 + 2t⁻¹; determinant 7.

Three sines tie a knot

Let a point move with a different sine wave in each of the three directions of space, the three frequencies whole numbers with no common factor, and it traces a closed curve that is usually knotted. With frequencies 2, 3 and 7 the curve is the knot 5₂. The trefoil, the simplest knot of all, can never be made this way: the half-turn that shifting time by half a period performs forces a condition on the knot's polynomial that the trefoil fails.

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